


Kasumi-ami

by Crown_of_Winterthorne



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bondage, Future Fic, Idiots in Love, Kinbaku, Konoha is a little shit, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Make-up and glitter, Mutual Pining, Nipple Piercings, Photographer Akaashi Keiji, Photography, Post-Canon, Shibari, Suspension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:46:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crown_of_Winterthorne/pseuds/Crown_of_Winterthorne
Summary: Mist nets (kasumi-ami) are used by ornithologists and biologists to capture birds and bats for banding. Resembling volleyball nets, Japanese hunters used mist nets for over 300 years to catch birds. This story doesn’t include mist nets, but Akaashi catches an owl anyway.***A fic in which photography student Akaashi is surprised by the appearance of his newest model... someone he thought he'd gotten over years ago.





	Kasumi-ami

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all of my wonderful friends who provided inspiration, advice and encouragement. 
> 
> Gift art from the amazing Claudia: [Bokuto (nsfw-ish)](http://claudiyah-art.tumblr.com/post/170808738431/the-only-time-akaashi-could-ever-recall-bokuto)  
>  
> 
> _Please note, this is a work of fiction and I'm handwaving a lot of safe suspension practices for the sake of intimacy._

There was nearly a groove worn into the floor where Akaashi paced. He was gripping his phone nearly hard enough to crack the casing as he struggled to keep his temper. Against his ear, Konoha tried to reassure him.

“My friend will be there soon. He texted me just a few minutes ago to say he missed the train.”

“I should have asked Daichi-san to help me,” Akaashi said. “Suga-san wouldn't mind as long as he got to watch.”

“Daichi would die of embarrassment,” Konoha snorted. “Look, he’ll be there, okay? Why are you so anxious about this?”

“Why wouldn’t you just give me your friend’s number?” Akaashi countered.

“So you could call and scare him off for being late? Forget it.”

Akaashi bit back a growl. The nature of his photos had been enough to dissuade three potential models already. He wasn't going to yell at someone who was willing to look past the Araki and Mapplethorpe comparisons. Even if they were fifteen minutes late.

“Look, he’ll be there any minute,” Konoha said, “just try to relax and, I don't know, get in your artist headspace or whatever.”

Akaashi smirked. Konoha was a bit closer than he knew with that phrase. He turned towards the door when he heard loud footsteps in the hallway.

“I think this is him now—” Akaashi started to say, eyes going wide when his model stepped through the door. 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto’s handsome face split into a heartbreakingly familiar smile. A smile Akaashi hadn't seen in almost three years.

“I'm going to kill you,” Akaashi told Konoha, hanging up to the sound of his laughter.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto crushed him into a hug, “Konoha didn't tell me you were his photographer friend!”

“Konoha-san didn't tell either of us a lot of things,” Akaashi said, stepping back. A horrible thought flashed through his head. “He  _ did _ tell you what kind of photos these are, right?”

Bokuto blushed and it was as endearing as ever, pink tracing over his pale cheeks and nose. “Yeah. I, um, probably would have been a lot less nervous if I knew it was you. That’s why I missed my train.”

The admission was strangely flattering. And sweet. Akaashi smiled. “It’s been a very long time, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “yeah, it has. You… you’re doing okay?”

“I am. I'm afraid we only have this space for a few hours, though. Let's get started and then perhaps we can catch up later?” 

_ Work before pleasure _ , Akaashi told himself. He had to maintain some kind of professional distance. The only way he’d survived his friendship with Bokuto in the past had been with carefully cultivated distance.

Distance that, eventually, had grown too wide to bridge.

As Akaashi explained the photoshoot, he wondered if perhaps the divide wasn't too wide after all. Bokuto seemed eager to begin, seemed to still trust Akaashi implicitly. It was as if they’d never been apart. After all, there had been no falling out, no arguments between them. They had simply drifted apart, pulled into different directions by the march of time.

Akaashi felt more confident with every moment. Right up until he needed to ask Bokuto to strip.

“You brought the clothing I requested?” Akaashi asked, nodding towards Bokuto’s backpack.

“Oh! Yeah! Do you want me to get changed now?”

“Please. Ah, there's a changing room through there,” Akaashi gestured to a door near the back of the studio. “Would you like me to have someone else join us? I don’t usually like having an assistant, but some of my classmates are in the building if you’d be more comfortable…”

Bokuto smiled, shaking his head. “Why wouldn't I be comfortable with you, ‘Kaashi? It’d be weirder with somebody watching.”

That was less reassuring than Bokuto meant it to be. Akaashi put his hands on his hips before he could start fussing with his nails. His heart was fluttering in his chest and he was sure that he was blushing.

“You understand that I'm going to be tying you up, right? I won't do anything you don’t want, but… it might be more… intimate than you expect,” Akaashi finished quietly. 

“I know. It's okay.” Bokuto put his hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, gently squeezing the way he used to do when Akaashi was nervous before a volleyball game. “I trust you. Besides, it's not the first time I've been tied up.”

“Wait. What?” Akaashi couldn't have heard that right. “Bokuto-san!”

Bokuto didn't reply. Instead he was already walking towards the dressing room, leaving Akaashi with a slack jaw and the sound of his laughter. 

It was, perhaps, a little bit mean, but Akaashi wasn't the only one trying to hide his nervousness. Bokuto wasn't used to feeling intimidated by anything, but he'd forgotten what it was like to be near Akaashi.

How had he gotten even prettier in the last three years?

Taking a deep breath, Bokuto closed the door and leaned against it. There was no point in being nervous anymore. Being irritated with Konoha wouldn't help anything either—even though Bokuto was going to give him hell for this little surprise. 

All he could do was shove aside his feelings for Akaashi, the way he'd done since the first day they met, and be a good friend. Be a responsible senpai.  _ Be professional. _

It was easier said than done, but Bokuto had gotten considerably better at putting mind over matter. Better at avoiding distractions, even ones as pretty as Akaashi Keiji. So he pulled his shirt over his head and started rummaging through his bag for the clothes he was supposed to wear.

The crisp black jeans were a little tighter than Bokuto would normally choose and the silver-studded belt was Kuroo’s. So were the freshly polished black boots with more buckles than were practical. They were slightly too big and the heels—did Kuroo really need to be even fucking  _ taller _ ?—took some getting used to, but when Bokuto looked at himself in the mirror, he had to admit it was a good look. 

He combed out his hair until it fell around his face and into his eyes. Akaashi hadn't asked for that, but he’d also promised that Bokuto’s face would be obscured in the photos. It didn't make sense to keep his signature hairstyle and ruin the anonymity. Akaashi would understand that.

Running his hands through his hair—it still felt stiff, even though he hadn't used as much product that morning—Bokuto took another calming, cleansing breath and walked back into the studio. His boots sounded particularly heavy on the floor. Or maybe that was his heart.

“‘Kaashi?” he asked, approaching his old friend. Akaashi had his back turned, fussing with the lights and muttering to himself. Probably cursing Konoha.

“Hey, hey, ‘Kaash,” Bokuto tried again. “Do I look okay? I borrowed a few things from Kuroo, but—”

He cut off when Akaashi turned around and nearly stumbled at the sight of him. He  _ had _ to have heard Bokuto’s approach, right? Or was it—

_ Oh _ . Bokuto gave Akaashi a soft, suddenly shy smile.

Akaashi’s eyes ran over Bokuto from head to toe and back again, stuttering over his chest and the silver barbells there. Color rose to Akaashi’s cheeks and he glanced away from Bokuto, biting at one nail. It was a gesture meant to seem thoughtful, but Bokuto knew better.

“I look okay?” he asked. It was only partly to tease Akaashi, to make him admit it out loud. The truth was that Bokuto was starting to feel some of the old anxiety bubble up in his chest. Akaashi's opinion had always been so important to him, even when he pretended otherwise.

“You’re perfect, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s smile widened into the brilliance Akaashi loved. He loved the gentler ones too, but the soft ones made him weak. Akaashi was better equipped to deal with Bokuto’s open grins and boisterous laughter. 

At least, that was what Akaashi thought before Bokuto asked, “Where do you want me?”

Akaashi wondered how unprofessional it would be to die from blushing. He could  _ feel _ the heat in his face and knew that he was too pale to hide it.

“Um… if you could sit,” Akaashi gestured to a stool beside a table laid out with paints, brushes, and feathers. “The makeup comes first, then we’ll take some photos without the ropes.”

Bokuto shrugged and nodded. “Whatever you need. I'm your canvas, right?”

“More or less,” Akaashi agreed, smiling when Bokuto sat, patiently waiting for him. 

Bokuto had always been happy to let Akaashi lead, knowing that Akaashi would always try to make him shine brighter. If anything, Akaashi supposed that in these photographs, he might finally be able to give Bokuto the kind of light he’d always deserved.

That thought made Akaashi nervous in ways that felt far more productive than before. He was determined to bring out every inch of Bokuto’s beauty for the camera. To bring out his very soul.

Maybe, he considered, casting a look over the tubes and pots of color, the collection of delicate feathers, he had always meant this shoot for Bokuto.

“Have you done this before?” Bokuto asked, warily eyeing the collection.

“Often,” he replied, letting Bokuto wonder about the details. “Are you allergic to latex, Bokuto-san?”

“No?”

Akaashi smiled. “Good. Hold out your arm for me. I want to test some of the paints and glues before we start. While we’re waiting to see if you have any reaction, I'll have you sign the model release form we talked about.”

Bokuto agreed and held out his left arm for Akaashi while he read over the forms. The paints and brushes tickled against the soft skin of his inner forearm. It was distracting, until a line of text caught his eye.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto said, frowning, “does this mean you could like… make prints of me and sell them?”

“I wouldn't do that to you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. “I won’t even include them in my portfolio if you don’t want me to.”

“No, it's fine. I guess… it hadn't really occurred to me that anyone outside of your class might see these.”

“If it bothers you—”

“I’ll still do it,” he shook his head, looking up to meet Akaashi’s eyes. “I trust you. It’s just a little weird, is all. You know, thinking of strangers looking at me the way...”

_ The way you look at me. _

Bokuto signed the release with a quick, sprawling hand and shoved it back at Akaashi before he could change his mind. 

He glanced down at the streaks of paint and makeup on his forearm and put on his most confident grin. “Look! No reaction!”

“Bokuto-san…”

“I want to do this for you, ‘Kaashi,” he said before Akaashi could form a proper protest. “Besides, it's too late for you to get another model, right?”

Akaashi nodded, but didn't look convinced. “If you're sure.”

“I’m sure,” Bokuto said, putting some firmness into his voice. He’d learned a long time ago that Akaashi didn't argue with him when he used that voice. His Captain's Voice, Kuroo had always teased him.

If it made Akaashi blush ever so faintly too... well, Bokuto wasn’t going to comment.

Akaashi cleaned the test patches off of his arm with a baby wipe. His hand trembling ever so slightly, he reached out and tipped Bokuto’s chin up towards the light. His fingers were cool and soft. It made Bokuto shiver.

“I’m sorry; is it cold for you in here?” Akaashi asked, pinning back Bokuto’s hair. He picked up a sponge and some kind of flesh-toned makeup.

“Maybe a little,” he shrugged, as Akaashi started applying the color to his face and neck. It felt strange, but there was something relaxing about it too. 

“The lights will make it hot enough while we work. Do you want a jacket while I do your face?”

Bokuto considered it. He had a hoodie in his backpack, but he didn't mind all that much when Akaashi’s eyes kept flickering to his bare shoulders and chest.

“Nah,” he said, “I'm good.”

Akaashi nodded and kept applying makeup, sometimes blending it with his fingers in a way that Bokuto found he really liked. It felt nice to have someone touching his face, especially when that someone was Akaashi. He closed his eyes, relaxed his shoulders, and tried not to fidget.

“How have you been, ‘Kaashi?” he asked before the silence could grow heavy.

“I’m okay. I work part-time in a portrait studio, but it's nothing like what I really want to do,” Akaashi said. “I'm hoping for a good internship next year.”

“High fashion, right?” That’s what Konoha had said his “friend” was interested in. High fashion and, what was it…? “ _ Avant garde sensuality _ .”

“Hopefully,” Akaashi said. He applied some other colors with sponges and brushes, eyeing Bokuto critically and making adjustments. “What about you, Bokuto-san? 

Bokuto told Akaashi eagerly about his classes and the scouts at his university games. He was hoping to play for one of the local teams so he could stay close to family and friends, but he thought the Arrows might make the best offer.

“Are you still considering becoming a teacher after you retire from volleyball?”

Bokuto was touched that Akaashi would remember, though he wasn't sure why. Akaashi had always noticed everything about him, for better or worse. It was one of the reasons Bokuto had fallen for him.

The only thing he had never noticed was Bokuto’s fall.

Bokuto started to nod, but Akaashi caught his chin first. “Sorry. Um, yeah. I think elementary kids would be great. And I wanna coach.”

“You’d do well. Kids adore you.” Akaashi picked up something that looked like a pen and Bokuto frowned slightly. “It’s eyeliner. I'm going to need you to keep your eyes closed and your face relaxed for me.”

The eye makeup was weird. Bokuto tried to hold still, even though he desperately wanted to see what Akaashi was doing. He was scolded every time he cracked open an eye when they were supposed to be closed, even if it wasn’t the one Akaashi was loading up with paint and glitter and feathers. His face felt lopsided. His lashes were heavy with the fake ones layered on top of his own.

“This feels really weird,” he said.

“I know, but you'll get used to it,” Akaashi reassured him. “Tell me if it starts to itch or if something gets into your eyes. You can open them now.”

Akaashi thought he had been prepared for the sight of Bokuto made up, but as with the clothes, he was so wrong. When those golden eyes fluttered open and fixed on him, Akaashi caught his breath. 

Bokuto looked like some kind of wild, warrior god with a streak of black banded across his eyes like a mask. Gold and silver accented the sharpness of his cheeks and brows and his right eye was accented with feathers, as if he were half-changed into a real owl. 

“How is it?” Bokuto asked.

“Gorgeous,” Akaashi said before he could stop himself. He recovered quickly, adding, “We’re almost done.”

Bokuto grinned at him in the way Akaashi knew meant that he was enjoying seeing him flustered. It made him want to get even and he smiled as he picked up the bottle of black body paint.

“This might be cold,” he warned, directly pouring a small amount of the paint onto Bokuto’s collarbone.

Bokuto jumped. “Jeez! Warn a guy, Akaashi!”

“I did. Sit still please,” he said, as calmly as if nothing had happened. As if his plan hadn't backfired just a little. As if Bokuto’s pierced nipples weren't suddenly rock hard and his smooth skin pebbled with gooseflesh.

Akaashi swallowed back a whine and used his fingers and a sponge to smudge the paint up higher onto Bokuto’s neck and shoulders. While drips and drops ran down the curves of pectorals, the rest was turned into abstract strokes. Silver accented the tendons in Bokuto’s neck, highlighted his throat. When the drips dried, Akaashi added drops of silver, splashes of gold.

Now Bokuto was more than a warrior god. He was a warrior god- _ king _ .

Bokuto lifted his gaze to watch Akaashi, held himself painfully still as long, pale fingers swept over his chest. There was no rhyme or reason to the patterns Akaashi traced onto him. Bokuto’s body was a canvas and Akaashi the artist.

He took slow, deep breaths, skin tingling beneath the paint. It smelled faintly of plastic, but not overwhelmingly so. Not when Akaashi was close enough for his thighs to press against Bokuto’s knees. He was wearing cologne, something soft and citrusy. It was refreshing against the rubbery black latex and sharp scent of eyelash glue.

Bokuto thought he could get used to the cologne. The paints, not so much.

Akaashi’s touch was intoxicating too. His fingers were warm, gentle. There was a deft, thoughtful movement to them. It felt professional without being cold and detached. Truthfully, it reminded Bokuto of the way Akaashi had always been on the volleyball court. Focused yet passionate.

It tickled when Akaashi used a small brush to paint Bokuto’s bottom lip with waxy black lipstick. Silver went on in a wet stripe down the center.

“Do  _ not _ lick them,” Akaashi warned.

He put his hand beneath Bokuto’s chin, tipping his head this way and that. His breathing deepened as he dragged his thumb across the silver, smearing it across Bokuto’s lip and part of his chin.

It was all Bokuto could do not to lick the pad of Akaashi’s thumb. To see if he might shudder, if his breathing would catch or his sharp green eyes turn hazy.

Akaashi murmured something that sounded like  _ “beautiful…” _ and smiled. It was the warm, kind smile that always made Bokuto feel like he had swallowed the sun. Akaashi’s smiles were so rare, so genuine. 

“Can I see?” Bokuto was surprised he’d held out his curiosity for so long.

Akaashi nodded and picked up a large hand mirror from the table. He held it in front of Bokuto and looked at him a bit nervously. Bokuto doubted that anyone else would have noticed, but he had always been able to read Akaashi better than most. Even when Akaashi didn't realize it.

The reflection in the mirror caught Bokuto off-guard. “Holy shit.”

“You approve?” Akaashi asked, clearly pleased. With one hand, he reached out to pull the pins from Bokuto’s hair and ruffle it until it framed his face, balancing out the feathers.

“I look…  _ wow _ ,” Bokuto grinned. “Are you sure this is me, Akaashi? I look fucking  _ wild _ .”

“It’s you, Bokuto-san,” he nodded, putting the mirror away and stepping back. “If you would, I'd like to take some photos without the ropes first.”

“Yeah!” he all but jumped from his seat, enthusiasm thrumming through his veins. He felt confident, half-masked by the colors painting him. It was like armor against any lingering reservations he might have had.

Akaashi seemed as unruffled by Bokuto’s energy as ever. He slipped into his vice-captain mode, patiently explaining what he wanted from Bokuto. 

Power. Strength. Pride.

Bokuto could do that. It had never been hard to embody those things, but dressed as he was now, he felt unstoppable. 

It was still awkward at first. Despite all of Bokuto’s excitement, he’d never modeled before. At least, not like this. There had been an occasion or two when he’d needed extra money and posed for a life drawing class, but photography seemed to be a different beast.

The mood Akaashi had created in the studio helped, with the heavy shadows and bare walls. It was sparse and industrial. Bokuto felt like a creature come down to a world abandoned, to stalk and hunt. An urban owl hunting among the alleyways and forgotten buildings. 

Akaashi brought out the best in him. Always had, but this time it was with gentle direction and the flash of a camera.

“Tilt your chin higher,” Akaashi said, “that's it. I want you to look defiant. That look you used to give Kuroo whenever we played Nekoma.”

Bokuto’s laugh was caught on camera, but he schooled his features back into something serious before Akaashi could scold him. Not that Akaashi minded, really. He treasured every photo he had of Bokuto’s spontaneous laughter and smiles. 

Seeing the serious side of Bokuto as he stalked and swaggered across the studio floor was a treat in its own right. Akaashi had always been weak for Bokuto at his best, and this—the makeup, the costuming, the lighting—was a whole new definition of best. 

When the ropes came out, Akaashi felt like he was capturing and taming this new, warrior Bokuto. It was a feeling of power that he hadn't anticipated on.

It should have been a simple thing to tie Bokuto up, binding his arms behind his back and making him kneel. He reminded himself that this was staging, not a scene. Reminded himself that it wasn't real. No matter how much he tried to remember that, for just a moment, Akaashi had a flash of what it might be. What could be, could have been.

Akaashi was methodical, looping the black ropes around Bokuto’s chest, his shoulders and biceps. He made himself focus on the task, rather than the warmth of Bokuto’s skin, the way Bokuto watched his hands work or the way he took slow, steady breaths. Akaashi tried not to let his fingers graze over pale skin unless it was to check the tightness of the rigging.

Akaashi checked the rigging a lot.

With Bokuto’s arms folded behind him, his back was arched into a graceful curve. The position pushed his chest out, put his silver jewelry on display and emphasized every muscle. Akaashi wanted to touch, wanted to see if Bokuto would tremble beneath his fingers if he plucked at the piercings.

Akaashi lifted his chin again, just as he’d done earlier. “Look proud for me. You’re caught, but not defeated.”

Bokuto met his gaze, licked his lips. His voice was rough when he spoke, a rasp of velvet. “Will I be?”

“Only if you want to be,” Akaashi whispered.

Bokuto wasn’t sure what to say to that. There was a heavy, lingering silence between them, Akaashi’s fingers still beneath his chin. He flexed beneath the ropes, shifted on his knees. Akaashi’s thigh pressed against his because they were just that close. 

When did they get so close?

“Are they too tight?” Akaashi asked softly, dropping his hand to trace over the knots. It felt more intimate than it should have.

“No.”

“Tell me if we need to take a break or I need to loosen them,” Akaashi said, slowly rising to his feet. He was graceful, making the movement look practiced and perfect. 

“I will,” Bokuto promised. 

Akaashi stepped behind the camera on its tripod and the moment was gone. The distance was back and they were both politely professional again. Bokuto didn't like it. It felt cold and artificial when just a few moments before he’d been filled with heat and power.

“When did you learn to do this?” he asked. He wanted that intimacy back. Wanted to learn things about Akaashi that time apart had stolen from them. No, not stolen. That he had  _ lost _ .

“Two years ago,” Akaashi said, pausing to adjust the lights, “I saw an art show featuring ropework. It was… powerful. I wanted to incorporate it into my own art, so I found some workshops.”

There was a silence long enough that Bokuto thought Akaashi might be finished speaking. He was about to ask more when Akaashi beat him to it.

“What about you, Bokuto-san? You said you’d done this before?”

“Ahaha… yeah,” he blushed. He hoped the makeup hid most of it. “I dated a girl who was into it.”

Akaashi’s blush was definitely visible. “Oh.”

“Her knots weren't as neat as yours,” Bokuto said, looking down at the carefully tied ropes framing his chest. It was a simple harness, one he’d worn several times for his ex, but this was the first time he’d taken note of the artistry involved. 

Akaashi always had been perfect at anything he did. 

Akaashi had always been… perfect. 

“We weren't together for long,” Bokuto said, feeling the need to assure Akaashi that he wasn't dating anyone currently. To be reassured of the same. “Um… are you…? Y’know?”

As he asked, Bokuto felt himself grow nervous again and squirmed beneath the eye of the camera. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair but the ropes held firm against his wrists and biceps.

Akaashi just smiled. “I'm not seeing anyone either. Konoha says my standards are too specific.”

“Yeah? What kind of specific?”

“Later,” Akaashi promised. “You're supposed to be my captive god right now. It won't do any good if you keep getting distracted, Bokuto-san.”

“Sorry,” he grinned.

“No, you're not.”

Bokuto laughed, feeling the nervous tension in his chest ease. “I am! A little. Sort of.”

“That's what I thought,” Akaashi teased back. “Come on. Focus, please.”

Akaashi had forgotten just how quickly Bokuto’s mood could shift. Was forcibly reminded when Bokuto took a deep, calming breath and lifted his gaze. His eyes appeared to glow in the shadows, hungry and golden. His smile was still teasing, but somehow… darker. Promising.

_ Fuck _ .

Akaashi wondered what it would be like to have that gaze turned on him for real. He wondered how much of it was already real and turned his thoughts back to work. He couldn't afford to think that way, to hope…

Even if he already was thinking. Hoping.

Bokuto didn't make it easy on him. His legs had been left unbound and he crawled across the concrete like he was stalking Akaashi. His gaze was for the camera, but it felt stronger. He was looking through the lens right at Akaashi. 

Akaashi licked his lips, felt his throat grow suddenly dry. Bokuto was the predator again, determined not to lose even though he was half-bound. And Akaashi… he was the  _ prey _ .

“Bokuto-san,” he said softly, “have you ever tried suspension?”

Golden eyes rolled up to look at him. “No. Is that what you want to do next?”

“How else am I going to tame you?”

“Are you sure you can?

Akaashi wasn't sure if Bokuto was asking about his skill with suspension or his ability to tame the warrior god in front of him. He just smiled and said, “Yes.”

Bokuto’s eyes fluttered shut at that. If not for the feathers and false lashes, Akaashi might not have noticed the stutter, but he did see it. The ropes drew attention to the way Bokuto breathed in deeply. Akaashi added this moment to his camera’s roll. He couldn't be sure if it was for the story he was trying to create or if it was for his own pleasure. 

Maybe both.

Somewhere in the midst of everything, the lines had blurred. It would be best to pull back, to firmly define their roles again as photographer and model. Artist and muse. As if it had ever been that easy. 

Nothing was easy with Bokuto. Never had been. Nothing, except perhaps… just  _ being _ with him. 

Akaashi stopped thinking and sank into the moment. When they began the final staging for his photos, the only thing that mattered was Bokuto and the ropes.

It was a relief to pay attention to the ropes and knots, to push out of his mind the way Bokuto’s skin felt against his fingers. He was warm. Soft. Everything Akaashi had always known him to be, packaged in thick muscle and boyish smiles. Akaashi concentrated on taking care of Bokuto, making sure the knots were placed carefully and his weight would be distributed evenly. 

He glanced at Bokuto’s face, watching for discomfort and finding none. He looked…  _ content _ . Trusting.

What had Akaashi ever done to earn the look in those liquid golden eyes? That was more than friendship, it was deeper, something a little frightening. Akaashi ached for it to be real and true.

“You're good at this,” Bokuto said quietly, allowing Akaashi to manipulate his legs, to bind his thighs and calves. Akaashi’s hands had always been strong. Sure. They moved like that now, working quickly and deftly.

“You’ve always been good at anything you put your mind to,” Bokuto continued, looking at Akaashi from under his lowered lashes. It wasn't like Bokuto to be coy, and he didn't  _ do _ subtle, but there was a quiet weight between them again. He didn't want to break it, didn't want to lose that connection again.

Akaashi smiled, serene, and kept working. “I could say the same for you, Bokuto-san.”

“You’ve never been good at flattering me though,” he grinned.

“Your head was always big enough without that,” Akaashi teased back. “Can I remove your boots? I think you’ll look better without them.”

“Sure,” he tried to shrug, but the ropes made it awkward. “There's a zipper on the inside.”

Akaashi nodded and drew the tab down on the right boot. There was a new kind of intimacy to this. Bokuto felt like Cinderella in reverse. It wasn't a bad sensation, nor was the heightened sense of vulnerability that came with being barefoot and bound.

It only intensified when Akaashi was finally ready to lift him. Even though Bokuto was only suspended a few inches off of the floor, even though Akaashi talked to him the entire time to make sure there was no pain, no unease. It was disconcerting to be held aloft by mere ropes and a pulley in a university photo studio. 

“I’ll hurry,” Akaashi said, returning to  his camera. “I don’t want to suspend you for long since you’re not used to it. Tell me if anything starts to hurt or feel weird.”

“I’m fine,” Bokuto assured him. 

Akaashi took a series of pictures, pausing only to adjust the lighting or his camera’s settings. He worked quickly, giving only a few directions. 

Bokuto was holding still, no longer as concerned with modeling as he was focused on the bondage. On the way the ropes pressed into his skin, or the way he swayed ever so slightly whenever he moved. He breathed slow and deep, trying not to squirm.

It was admirable, Akaashi thought, that Bokuto would try to stay still for him. He knew how strange it was to be lifted in the air, held only by a few well-placed knots. He knew Bokuto’s need to be in motion, the way he twitched and shifted with every passing emotion.

The only time Akaashi could ever recall Bokuto being perfectly still was in the split second he flew into the air, poised to smack down a spike. That too-brief moment when he hung, suspended and perfect. A warrior-god in his own right.

Yet here he was, caught for Akaashi like a bird in a mist net. And he looked happy about it.

Akaashi swallowed hard. The tightness in his chest had moved down to his stomach and lower. It would be unfair to ask Bokuto to model for him again. 

It would be purely for his own pleasure to ask Bokuto to wear his uniform and allow himself to be bound again, suspended mid-flight like some kind of kinky V-League fantasy. He couldn't ask. Wouldn't. 

That didn't stop him from thinking about it.

Taking the camera off its tripod, Akaashi allowed himself to get closer to Bokuto, trying for different angles. He needed the freedom that holding the camera gave him. It was no longer Bokuto stalking him, hunting the prey behind the camera. No longer defying his captor. Akaashi wanted close-ups of a Bokuto who hovered between pride and submission.

He tried to capture the tempered heat in Bokuto’s eyes. The anticipation of a breath caught on parted, painted lips. He watched Bokuto watch him, and despite who wore the bindings, Akaashi felt like he was the one who was caught.

“We’re almost done,” he said, his voice breathier than he’d like. He stood. “I want to get some shots from above, if that's all right.”

“Whatever you need, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto said. He smiled. 

Akaashi didn't miss the way Bokuto shivered when he stood over him, feet on either side of his hips. Despite his height, Akaashi had never felt particularly big. Especially not around Bokuto, who would have been huge even if he were Hinata’s size. The force of his personality was too powerful for that.

Standing over Bokuto now, Akaashi felt like an usurper to the god-king's throne. Or perhaps, his baser instincts corrected him, like a general with his spoils of war.

“Bokuto-san, look at me please,” Akaashi requested, adjusting his focal length and widening his stance a little. He leaned back so that his shadow didn't cast across Bokuto’s face.

Then he thought better of it and let his shadow dominate the shot, falling over Bokuto and the floor with an ominous finality. 

“Have I caught you?” Akaashi asked.

“Which me?” 

Akaashi wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. Wasn't quite sure what he’d been asking himself. Had he caught the fantastical creature he’d brought to life with paint and feathers, or the man beneath?

“All of you,” he said. Sinking to his knees, he straddled Bokuto’s waist, careful not to put any weight on him. He wasn't tied properly for that.

Bokuto licked his lips. Akaashi had told him not to and he’d resisted every urge before, but they felt suddenly dry. So did his throat.

“Do you want to be caught?” Akaashi continued. He lowered his camera, setting it onto the ground, and reached towards Bokuto’s face. Hesitated.

The question recalled their earlier teasing and Bokuto was no longer sure what was real. He had wanted Akaashi for so long, had clearly not gotten over him, and now that he was here, so close, so beautiful. He wouldn't be cruel enough to allow Bokuto to hope, to want…

To want to be caught. To be  _ his _ . 

“I think—” Bokuto said, hating how vulnerable he felt, the way his voice shook, “I think you caught me a long time ago. I just didn't know how to tell you.”

Akaashi closed his eyes. Opened them slowly. “Tell me now.”

Bokuto could feel his mouth turning up into a smile. He gave into it, laughing quietly. “Keiji. I’m yours.”

Akaashi crushed his mouth to Bokuto’s. It was fine if he smeared the makeup; they were almost done. It might make the final shots better. Akaashi didn't know. Didn't care. 

All that mattered was the taste of Bokuto’s lips beneath the wax and the way he arched up against the ropes for more. Akaashi cupped his face with both hands, rubbing off some of the paint and glitter onto his palms. Feathers and false lashes tickled his cheeks.

Bokuto let him lead, humming pleasantly into the kiss and parting his lips when Akaashi slipped his tongue along the seam of them. The ropes creaked softly as he flexed and twisted, wanting to get closer. Akaashi didn’t put any weight onto him, but he slid his backside against Bokuto’s groin, pressing against the swell of his cock and making him moan. 

The sound Akaashi made was beautiful too—a low, sweet whine. “Bokuto-san…”

“I’m yours,” Bokuto told him again, breathless in a way only Akaashi could ever make him. “Do you want me?”

“More than anything,” Akaashi whispered back. He couldn't breathe either. His heart was pounding, his hands twitching against Bokuto’s shoulders like he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch.

After a hesitation, Akaashi darted back in for another kiss. It was quick, teasing. He didn't dare try for more. Not yet. Not like this.

But  _ oh _ , he was tempted. Bokuto looked exquisite with his face flushed beneath the painted mask, his lower lip swollen ever so slightly and sheened with Akaashi’s kisses. 

“Let's finish,” Akaashi said, leaving a smudged handprint over Bokuto’s heart as he picked up his camera.

He leaned back, framing the final shot so that the handprint was visible and so was Bokuto’s smile. It was promising. The smile of a warrior who had let himself be captured. Who would never be tamed, but could only be calmed by the one he trusted. Loved.

Akaashi wanted that very much to be real. He looked forward to finding out.

—END—


End file.
